Ascent
by Berry's Ambitions
Summary: [One-shot] He sits at the bar, wondering how a heart could break so long after it's stopped beating. [Stretch/Amber]


_**Ascent**_

_**By Berry's Ambitions**_

**A/N: This is me, taking a shot another obscure pairing that doubtfully receive much attention from the fandom of its origin. The idea hit me out of nowhere a while back and I just had to get it down. I tend to ship Stretch with pretty much everyone, thought Amber had the potential to be an interesting character if done right, and voila! I found a new little ship to sail. :) This is set five years after the movie, and presumably Kat and Amber are on better terms now (for whatever reason). It's pretty vague overall and leaves a lot of room for interpretation, but I'm hoping you guys will be able to just go with it. Enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own _Casper__._**

* * *

It had reached the point where even her mere presence had become something he could no longer tolerate.

This conclusion had resurfaced mere moments before, from the depths of a subconscious he'd long-forgotten about. Which had probably been for the best, he'd only just realized. Ghosts forgot things for a reason. Because it made their existence that much easier.

Until now, he had no idea how true this statement was.

Stretch McFadden was the furthest thing from a coward, of course. He had overcome many trials in his early life, leaving him fearless and with the ability to handle any obstacles thrown in his general direction. Surely a thing such as _this_ shouldn't have counted as an exception to the rule.

He squinted at his surroundings, trying to recall where he'd ended up and how he had gotten there in the first place. Flight had been involved, that was for damn sure. A journey through the darkened sky, amongst all the birds and the planes and other things he never thought twice about.

But it was certainly difficult to focus when the entirety of his mind was encompassed by one person, and that person alone.

Which was _beyond _pathetic; no ifs, ands or buts about it. Back in the day, he'd deflowered rich girls like her just for kicks. Weak-minded, gullible brats he found, fucked and left in a whirlwind with a smile on their face the very next day.

In the beginning he had assumed she'd be no different from them. But, watching her more closely, he'd come to realize that this couldn't be more false.

Stretch had always been hasty with first impressions, and he ahbored changing his mind once his opinion was set. But _this?_ This was definitely the icing on the cake of bullcrap. (The image that followed this particular musing might have made him snicker had the he not been in such a foul mood.)

Aware that his temper was about to reach a boiling point, the violet-eyed ghost forced himself to relax and think about ordinary things, such as the crackling of the fallen leaves and chill of nightime. The perfect night for Halloween -

_Halloween... Halloween dance, five years ago..._

No matter what direction his train of thought headed, it always circled back to this. Back to _her._

Tonight had given him the eeriest sense of déjà vu, watching her parade around through Whipstaff Manor with that smarmy Vic DePhilippi on her arm. He'd left in a rage immediately, paying no mind to Stinkie as he called out for him and swatting away Fatso when his youngest brother reached out to touch his shoulder.

Like hell they would understand. Like hell he _wanted_ to tell them.

Why it had it been so difficult seeing her with Vic, anyway? It wasn't as if Amber genuinely loved the bastard. Even a simpleton could see that she was only using him to boost the self-worth she clearly lacked. Stretch had seen it all before, and the wasted potential never ceased to aggravate him.

Stretch floated aimlessly, not stopping until he was nearly blinded by familiar neon lights. He wasn't sure if this had been his intended destination - assuming he'd even had one to begin with - but he was relieved to see it. Even from outside, the heavy scent of alcohol was palpable in the air.

How typical of him, ending up at the place he visited whenever the afterlife had become tedious or troubling. By this point it had become as familiar as home - perhaps even more so.

Or perhaps he'd come here with the awareness that Amber Whitmire had never set foot in a bar during her short eighteen years of life.

He shook his head, disgusted with himself. Fleeing his own haunting grounds, unintentionally seeking out a destination that the fleshie wouldn't even spare a glance. What kind of ghost _was_ he?

"A dumbass one," Stretch muttered to his own reflection in the large glass window. Without even the slightest bit of consideration, he floated through it, violently startling any patrons who weren't used to his presence and blatantly ignoring the drunken greetings from the majority who were.

When he took his seat in front of the bartender and met the old man's eyes, he was taken aback by the grim understanding he saw reflecting there. As if Stretch's behaviour was nothing this particular skin-bag hadn't seen before.

"The usual?" the bartender asked, gruff voice holding a note of sympathy.

"Yeah," Stretch replied, feigning a casual attitude that they both knew wasn't really there. That hadn't been there since Alpha Blonde had come into the picture.

Immediately downing his first shot of whiskey, he asked himself how his existence had come to this and what in the hell _this_ was to begin with.

**~The End~**


End file.
